Audieris in quo, Flacce, balneo plausum,
Maronis illic esse mentulam scito.

Martial, Epigram XXXIII

Right, here's a bit of Alexander Pope, from his Epistle to a Lady (the lady was Martha Blount, generally held to have been his mistress.)  In one way it is a cruel piece:

At last, to follies Youth could scarce defend,
It grows their Age's prudence to pretend;
Asham'd to own they gave delight before,
Reduc'd to feign it, when they give no more:
As Hags hold Sabbaths, less for joy than spight,
So these their merry, miserable Night;
Still round and round the Ghosts of Beauty glide,
And haunt the places where their Honour dy'd.

While it shows these former beauties to be grotesque, there is a great sense of pathos there, ending with the extraordinary line "Round and round the ghosts of beauty glide."

Don Basilio

Thank you for posting that. I certainly prefer poetry which has meter and rhyme.
I've read it a couple of times but am not sure what Ppe intends by:'As Hags hold Sabbaths,'. May I ask what you think?
It sounds to me as if he is referring to old women who attend church to give themselves status...

The word "hag" reminds me of a poem by Robert Frost:


Provide, Provide

The witch that came (the withered hag)
To wash the steps with pail and rag,
Was once the beauty Abishag,

The picture pride of Hollywood.
Too many fall from great and good
For you to doubt the likelihood.

Die early and avoid the fate.
Or if predestined to die late,
Make up your mind to die in state.

Make the whole stock exchange your own!
If need be occupy a throne,
Where nobody can call you crone.

Some have relied on what they knew;
Others on simply being true.
What worked for them might work for you.

No memory of having starred
Atones for later disregard,
Or keeps the end from being hard.

Better to go down dignified
With boughten friendship at your side
Than none at all. Provide, provide!


Robert Frost

Don Basilio

Thank you  - that makes the verse  much more interestinf.

pim derks

I like that Robert Frost poem; thank you for quoting it.

Not long before he died, Robert Frost made a beatiful recording of it.

The following is an old chestnut, which I am sure many of you will know, particularly Vaughan Williams lovers.

However, I would be very interested indeed if any of you who don't recognise it or  know it would like to say what you think it may be about.

Here it is:

   LOVE (III)
by XX

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
        Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
        From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
        If I lack'd anything.

"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
        Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
        I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
        "Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
        Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
        "My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
        So I did sit and eat.

 

Ooh, I love this poem.  I love the metaphysicals generally - the way they blur boundaries between art and science, between religion and eroticism, between reason and passion.  Yummy.